My Own Private Grinch
by Zoyciteyouma
Summary: It's twenty years later and the Grinch has been hiding a personal issue. Fortunately, a welcomed visit from an old friend arrives at the right time.


It was Christmas in Whoville, and all through the village

The stores were afrenzied with stockpiles to pillage.

The shops were all decked out in festive attires,

With garland and snowflakes suspended by wires. 

Each clerk did their work, keeping smiles in their places

With holiday stressors untouched on their faces.

They rang out their welcome, embracing of wallets

For this-a-ma-bobbles and that-cha-ma-callits. 

The square had its share of events for all ages

With reindeer on rooftops and skaters on stages.

The ice sculptors sculpted. The carolers caroled.

And kids threw their snowballs at poor uncle Harold. 

But one place in town you could spend half the winter

Was Mark's Mega-market, your superstore center

With doors opened wide for the masses to enter

(Though getting back out was a bit of a splinter). 

Its grocery counters were filled to capacity

Taking in caking for baking tenacity.

Mounds of Who-briskets! And mountains of sauces!

And leaflets of lettuce for salady tosses!

Who-pudding! Who-dressing! Who-cider! You're on!

Stack pies to the skies filled with peach and pecan!

The feast! O the feast! How the Whos loved to feast!

Stuff their bellies with jellies of flour and yeast.

From the south to the north, and the west to the east,

All the Whos would be feasting 'til tummies increased. 

And off in the distance, a jovial Who

(Little Cindy-Lou Who, who was now twenty-two)

Had the plate full of cookies she baked every year

For a friend of the Whos, who she held very dear. 

She tapped on his door with no hint of a warning

And called to the Grinch with a chirpy "Good morning!"

She heard a low shuffle of clothes in a spin

And a few moments later the door opened in. 

He stood there, bedecked in his outfit of yore,

That red Santa jacket he'd worn long before,

The rim and the hem at the bottom he'd laced

With a billowy cotton that covered his waist. 

She smiled when she saw him, the funny old Grinch,

And she leaned in to give him a Christmasy clinch.

And although he returned it, not pausing to flinch,

He seemed to retreat- maybe just for an inch. 

But no matter. The Grinch had his own way of being.

Today was a day full of sledding and skiing.

But first, Cindy-Lou Who had something to do.

"I brought you some cookies. I made them for you." 

The Grinch took one look at the delicatessen;

The faces of icing in azure and cresson,

A dozen or so little Grinchy surprises,

With smiles on their faces and gleams in their eyeses. 

"My dear," said the Grinch, "You're so thoughtful and kind.

I'm touch by your presents. Now if you don't mind,

There's a spot on the table to lay the tray down,

Then we'll hop in my sled and we'll glide into town." 

"But Grinch," Cindy giggled, "They're warm and they're fresh.

The dough and the icing? They perfectly mesh.

So why don't you try one before we go out?

I'm sure that you'll like them. I've nary a doubt." 

The Grinch felt unease with the leering dessert,

But his friend was aglow, and had feelings to hurt.

So he said, "Don't you see, I've been stuffed on Who-tater.

I'll work off that meal and I'll save them for later." 

Who-tater? thought Cindy. That seemed rather odd.

For this climate was hardly conducive to sod.

And his claim of its stock, through his foregone seclusion,

Was giving the Who a slight touch of confusion.

See, Cindy was young and a little naïve.

It was still in her nature to trust and believe.

But her time with the Grinch made her just a bit wise,

And she noticed a glimmer of pain in his eyes. 

"Dear Grinch," said the girl, "Is there something the matter?

You seem disenchanted by sight of the platter.

Or have I been rude with the frosting I smatter?

I meant no offense by your likeness in batter." 

"No child," said the Grinch, "You've impeccable skill.

And I'm sorry my words have provoked an ill-will.

So I'm happy to try your green cookies and cream."

Though he spoke through a grin, all he felt was a scream. 

He lifted a pastry right up to his lips

With its gooey confection in nectarous drips.

So simple. One bite. Take the treat in and chow it..

But try as he might, his mouth wouldn't allow it. 

He set down the cookie, this cast of himself,

And he lowered his head and he leaned on the shelf

And he slumped in his chair at a rickety slant

And he whispered to Cindy, "I'm sorry. I can't." 

"You can't?" Cindy said as she reached for his hand.

And taking his fingers, she made a demand.

"Please tell me," she pleaded through innocent youth,

"Just tell me the reason. And tell me the truth." 

The Grinch drew a breath like the heat of a griddle,

And lifted the jacket that shielded his middle,

And showed her his belly of fuzzy acclaim,

And he grimaced, and scowled, and he grumbled in shame. 

"This stomach I carry, this pitiful waist,

I cringe when I see it. This thing is disgraced.

I feel like a walrus with blubber to spare

Like it's building up here and it's storing up there.

And I've tried to get rid of it. Surely I've tried.

And I've tried, and I've tried, and I've broke down and cried.

And I stay here, not eating. I curl up and hide

And I bottle it up and I keep it inside." 

Now, his tummy was round, but was really just fine.

You'd not think such a thing could provoke this malign,

But whatever the reason, his age or his stress,

A feeling's a feeling; a powerful mess.

They sat there in silence, the Grinch and the Who

With neither one knowing what either should do.

So Cindy leaned in with a smile on her face

And she kissed his cheek gently and offered her grace. 

"Sweet Grinch, what you're seeing," the little Who said,

Is anxiety speaking. It's all in your head.

And this fear of the size of your abdomen's border?

It sounds like it's body dysmorphic disorder.

You're hearing a monster that feeds on its prey,

And it's cruel and collected and won't go away.

But you're never alone. There are others who know,

And they feel just as lost, like a tear in the snow,

But they reap what you reap and they sew what you sew.

And they'll listen and hear you

And comfort and cheer you

And guide you and steer you

Whenever you're low

And together your solace will certainly flow

If you give them a chance. O, their faces will glow." 

He ruffled the cotton from out of his lap

And hugged Cindy tightly, and threw on his cap.

And in Whoville below all the store fronts were lighter

And Christmas, it seemed, was a little bit brighter.


End file.
